Deezo, still smiling, raised his hands. “Let us celebrate this new generation,” he called, “Let your hands be skilled, your paths bright, your hearts bold.”
Spud winced at the cheer that followed.
No one turned to look at the boy not chosen.
No one spoke his name.
Still, he did not move.
Then, like a gust against a taut sail, something shifted.
A gust of robes. The soft intake of collective breath.
Duke Farrad ascended the steps, his ceremonial cloak shimmering gold, but the usual grandeur in his posture was muted. And behind him—defying tradition, climbing the platform with an urgency that seemed out of place—came Master Arkin, the Duke’s reclusive magician.
Murmurs stirred like leaves on stone.
Arkin did not wait for introduction. He bowed sharply to the Duke, the movement swift and precise.
“Your Grace,” he said, voice low but clear, “if I may be so bold—I request the right to take an apprentice this year.”
Gasps rustled through the crowd. Arkin had never taken one. Never asked.
For the first time since hope had bled dry, Spud felt something stir in his chest. Not longing. Not pain.
Possibility.
The Duke blinked, his face unreadable for a long breath. Then, slow as dawn, a smile broke—wry, knowing. “Well,” he said, with the casual grace of a man who’d seen stranger things than fate bending, “as a Master of the realm, you are well within your right. Though I confess, I didn’t think I’d see this day in my lifetime.”
He added with a glint of mischief, “You’re not getting any younger, old friend. Might be time someone learned your tricks.”
Arkin gave a gravel-throated chuckle, then turned his head—his gaze fixing directly on Spud.
“I choose Spud Raspin.”
The words fell like thunder in Spud’s chest. He barely heard the crowd—only the pounding of his own heart and the faint.
Time stopped.
Spud didn’t move. The words floated through him, distant and impossible, like a bell rung under water. All around him, eyes turned—some in shock, others in disbelief.
But none of it touched him.
He looked to the platform, to the man who had called his name not with kindness, but certainty. He looked to his mother, Mistress Magda, who stood breathless near the castle gates—her hand pressed to her lips, tears caught in her lashes like dewdrops on glass.
He looked to Timmy, whose face cracked wide with joy, and for the first time that day, Spud smiled—not out of politeness or performance.
It was real.
He stepped forward.
The crowd parted. The light changed. The courtyard no longer felt so heavy.
The Duke gave him a regal nod as he ascended the steps, Arkin waiting in silence beside him.
The Duke gave a subtle nod, regal but measured, before turning to conclude the ceremony. “You stand at the start of your path,” he intoned, voice steady and commanding. “Walk it with honor.”
And with that, the choosing ended.
The Duke concluded the ceremony with regal finality, his words lost beneath the rising cheer.
The Duke descended the stage with dignified ease, flanked by his sons—Arlep sharp-eyed and alert, Turon solemn and princely. Lady Vaneppe followed, elegant in her dark violet gown, while Lord Calnos glanced back once. His smile caught Spud’s eye—a flicker of kindness, unexpected but warming. He whispered something to the princess that drew from her a soft laugh, like a bell in a quiet chapel.
Behind them, the masters filed out in solemn pairs. Fronan strode beside Mistress Izza, their quiet conversation unreadable. Arkin, alone again, followed at a distance with Elder Ezrun. Their robes swept the ground like echoes fading into time.
As Magda passed, her eyes locked on Spud. Her face betrayed little—but he saw it all. The relief. The pride. The ache of a mother who’d had to stand still while her son learned pain. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
When the great doors swallowed the last of the masters, the weight lifted.
The courtyard erupted. Cheers rang out, names were called through the swirl of celebration, and laughter spilled like wine from an overturned cup. Youths clutched each other, leapt, shouted, wept. Futures were spoken aloud as if merely naming them made them real.
Through the crush of bodies, Timmy surged forward, his eyes bright and alive, cheeks flushed. He wrapped Spud in a bear hug and spun him half off the ground.
“You did it!” he shouted, breathless with joy. “Spud—you did it!”
Spud laughed, his voice a sound more open than it had been in weeks. “I think someone did it for me,” he said, “But…” Spud glanced toward the steps where Arkin had stood, where a shadow of possibility still lingered. “Yeah. I’ll take it.”
Timmy pulled back, gripping Spud by the shoulders. “A magician’s apprentice,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I never saw that coming.”
“Neither did I,” Spud murmured, his eyes drifting to the castle’s towering spires. “But it doesn’t feel wrong. Not anymore.”
Timmy grinned, fierce and proud. “You’ll be brilliant. You always notice the strange things—stuff no one else catches. That’s what magicians do, right?”
Spud managed a crooked smile. “Guess we’ll find out.”
They walked together toward the courtyard’s edge, where tables were being set and silver platters gleamed under hanging lanterns. Musicians tuned their curved instruments, notes rising into the evening air like birds lifting off at dusk.
Timmy gave Spud a playful nudge. “Just don’t forget your brother when you’re off turning invisible or summoning ravens.”
Spud smirked. “Only if you remember me when you’re declared the greatest swordsman alive.”
Timmy puffed out his chest. “Not becoming—already am. Starting now.”
Their laughter drifted into the hum of the growing celebration. Servers in silver sashes moved gracefully through the crowd, balancing trays with practiced ease. Parents began arriving through the gates, their faces filled with pride and quiet relief. Lanterns lit up one by one, casting warm, golden light across the courtyard stones.
A sharp whistle cut through the noise.
Calnos stood beneath a garden arch, beckoning with a crooked finger and a mischievous grin.
Spud glanced at Timmy. “Are we allowed to follow him?”
Timmy shrugged. “Probably not.”
Still, curiosity pulled them forward. Calnos gave a final nod and vanished into the garden path.
“Let’s see what he’s up to,” Timmy said.
They slipped through the hedge and into a quieter world. The sounds of music and laughter faded behind them, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the soft crunch of gravel underfoot.
“Couldn’t you have congratulated us in front of everyone?” Timmy asked, suspicious.
Calnos shrugged. “Didn’t know if I was supposed to be there.”
Spud raised a brow. “You were on the stage.”
“Titles get complicated,” Calnos said with a vague wave.
Timmy crossed his arms. “Are we gonna get in trouble?”
Calnos laughed. “Doubt it. Most of this is for the parents—and yours couldn’t make it, right? So who’s going to notice we’re missing for a little while?”
He gave a careless grin, eyes glinting. “Come on. Live a little.”
There was something magnetic about him—a charm that made danger seem distant.
Then his tone shifted.
With a mock formality, Calnos extended a hand to Timmy. “Congratulations. You’re now a knight of Convota.”
Timmy clasped it, grinning. The pride in his eyes was raw, still settling in. “Not quite, but close enough.”
Calnos turned to Spud, offering the same hand. “And you—first magician’s apprentice in, what, twenty years?”
Spud took it. “Feels more like a fluke, honestly.”
Their hands lingered a second too long. Spud caught something in Calnos’s expression—something hard to place. Not envy. Not surprise. Something deeper. Then it was gone.
Calnos stepped back and smiled again. “Let’s make a pact. Every year on this day, when I’m back in Convota—we meet. One drink. One story. Deal?”
Timmy looked to Spud. “Sounds fair.”
Spud nodded. “Deal.”
*
Later…
Micah led them through the outer courtyard—past sagging fences, cracked walls, and tired, suspicious eyes watching from shadowed corners. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and sour soil.
Then they stepped through a gate.
Everything changed.
The estate beyond the gate was like stepping into another world.
Smooth stone paths curved through vibrant gardens. Pergolas dripped with ivy and blooming jasmine. Birds floated lazily overhead. The scent of lavender filled the air—soft, clean, unfamiliar.
No mud.236Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaNsWNSxwPU
No blood.236Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ16WToMEhYU
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Only beauty.236Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3B3MwZh5Hy
Only control.
Spud and Alexi slowed—not from exhaustion, but awe.
For a moment, Spud felt something stir deep inside. Not quite hope. But something near it. A ghost of what hope might feel like.
Micah’s voice broke the spell. “What are you two lagging for?”
They startled, unsure if they’d overstepped.
Micah’s tone softened. “Come. Walk beside me.”
They moved up without question. The guards melted behind them like shadows, silent and ever-present.
For a while, only the sound of footsteps on clean stone.
Then Micah stopped beneath an arch overgrown with ivy. The boys halted beside him, still unsure.
Before them stood a building unlike any they had seen. Long, elegant. Calm. Tiled steps gleamed. Polished wooden doors stood tall. Lavender spilled from flower boxes. Benches rested under shade, as if someone had taken the time to care where people might sit.
It didn’t belong in their world.
It looked nothing like the swamp barracks.
Micah let the silence stretch.
Then he said, quietly, “What would you say if I told you I’m promoting you both?”
Alexi blinked. “Promoting us to what?”
Micah smiled faintly. “House slaves.”
Alexi frowned. “But... that’s still being a slave.”
Micah didn’t answer. He simply turned toward the doors and walked on.
*
Later, in the quiet curve of the garden…
Calnos pulled a small jar from his coat with a grin. The glass was dark and worn, its surface dulled by travel.
“We start now,” he declared, like announcing a grand secret. Mischief danced in his eyes.
He struggled briefly with the lid. “Sealed it too tight. Didn’t want it spilling over my maps.”
Pop.
A warm scent drifted out—spiced wine, rich and sharp, like fruit and smoke. The boys looked around instinctively. No adults. No guards. Just garden walls, a bench of old stone, and the hush of twilight pressing in.
Spud hesitated. “Shouldn’t we wait until the feast?”
“Just a sip,” Timmy whispered, already reaching. “Doesn’t count if we don’t get caught.”
Calnos drank first and winced theatrically. “Better than the vinegar I had in the wagons.”
He passed it to Timmy, who swirled it like a noble before sipping. “Way better than that swamp ale we tried last summer.”
Spud took the jar last. He held it carefully, like it might burst. Sniffed. Tasted.
Sweet at first—like sun-warmed berries—then sharp and earthy, with a flavor that lingered at the back of his tongue.
“Huh,” he said, blinking. “I like it. Didn’t think I would.”
Timmy and Calnos laughed, clapping him on the back.
“Guess you’ve got a grown-up tongue now,” Timmy teased.
Spud grinned, saying nothing. For a moment, they stood there—passing the jar, laughing, warm from wine and something more. Not pride exactly. But closeness. Belonging. The feeling of becoming something, even if they didn’t yet know what.
Beyond the hedges, the feast was calling—meat sizzling, music rising, voices buzzing with dreams of the future.
But here, just for now, they were none of those things.236Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoXDTO0kxjt
Not magician. Not swordsman. Not messenger.
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Friends.236Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrDTNhSClCO
Figuring it out.
Then came footsteps.
Nanda stepped into view, Jakes trailing behind. Nanda’s eyebrow rose when he saw them. “Well, well. Hiding from the ceremony, are we?”
“Not hiding,” Calnos said with a casual grin. “Just pacing ourselves.”
“You’re drinking, aren’t you?” Nanda narrowed his eyes.
“Maybe,” Timmy replied with a smirk. “Want in?”
Nanda didn’t answer right away. He stepped closer, eyeing the jar. Something in his face flickered—hesitation, maybe. A pause that didn’t match his usual confidence.
Calnos raised the jar like an offering. “Here. Might as well join us before Spud finishes it all.”
That broke the tension. Laughter bubbled up, easy and warm, and Nanda accepted the jar. Whatever had held him back melted away in the moment.
“So,” Calnos asked as Nanda took a sip, “what’d you get apprenticed as?”
“Horseman,” Nanda said, handing the jar to Jakes, who took a generous gulp before passing it to Timmy.
Timmy raised an eyebrow as he drank. “Didn’t you want to be a swordsman?”
“I did,” Nanda admitted, quieter now. His voice had lost its swagger. “Still do, I guess. But I’ve worked with horses my whole life. It’s what I’m good at... what I love, really. Even if I didn’t want to admit it.”
He looked down, nudging the dirt with the tip of his boot. The garden’s golden light made his features seem softer, more open than usual.
“I guess I’m worried people will think I gave up. That I wasn’t brave enough to chase the bigger dream.”
No one interrupted. The stillness around them felt like listening.
“My father’s talking to the masters,” he added. “He wants me to train in swordplay on the side. Said riders and blades go together. So... maybe I’ll still see you in sparring, Timmy.”
Timmy bumped his shoulder gently. “Swordsmen need horses, right? You’re just doing it backward.”
Nanda laughed. The tension eased from his posture.
Timmy passed the jar back to Spud, who took a slow, thoughtful sip.
Then Jakes spoke up, more quietly than usual. “Still can’t believe Spud’s a magician.”
Spud blinked. “I barely believe it either.”
Nanda turned to him, and his usual smirk softened into something more real. “I tease you a lot,” he said. “But seeing you up there today... standing alone like that—I felt something twist in my chest. Honestly, I nearly cried.”
Spud felt the heat rise in his face—not just from the wine. He met Nanda’s eyes and managed a crooked, grateful smile. “Thanks,” he said. “Maybe I’ll show you a spell someday.”
Timmy, now cradling the jar, looked to Jakes. “What about you?”
Jakes scratched his neck, bashful. “Chef,” he said. “Apprenticing in the kitchens.”
There was a small silence, then Timmy grinned. “That’s brilliant. You’ve got guts. My mum’s a storm in the kitchen—brilliant and terrifying. But if you ever need help, just yell. She’ll be in your corner.”
Jakes brightened, like someone finally letting out a long-held breath. “Thanks. I just hope I make her proud. My parents too.”
“Oi!” Calnos barked suddenly, lunging to snatch the jar from Spud’s hands. “You sipping it all while we bare our souls?”
Laughter broke loose—loud, easy, unfiltered. It spilled out into the hedges, free and honest, like the last light of day slipping through garden leaves.
Nanda leaned closer to Spud, eyebrows raised in mock seriousness. “So... do you actually know any magic yet?”
Spud laughed, shaking his head. “Not a flicker. Not yet anyway.”
“Well,” Nanda said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “I want front-row seats when you do. Just promise you won’t turn us into frogs.”
“No promises,” Spud grinned. “Depends how annoying you get.”
Their laughter softened into something quieter. Around them, twilight settled like a velvet curtain. The air smelled of roast meat, stone-fruit pies, crushed grass, and cooling lantern oil. What had started as a simple escape from ceremony had turned into something else entirely—something slower, gentler. A celebration. Not loud or ceremonial, but true. A pocket of warmth between boys on the edge of growing up.
Spud felt it: a weight and a lightness. He stood taller. Becoming a magician’s apprentice hadn’t been his dream—he’d imagined hunting in the wild, running with bow and arrow, chasing mysteries in the woods. Not spells. Not old words etched in dust.
But now, the unknown shimmered before him—strange, immense, terrifying. And his.
Magic. A path he never chose but could no longer ignore.
What would it demand of him?236Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtNLRsSa5tt
Who would he need to become?
Somewhere beyond the hedge, the courtyard music faded to silence. For a breathless moment, none of the boys spoke. It felt like waking from a shared dream, eyes adjusting to the glow of lanterns and what waited beyond.
Calnos sealed the jar with a practiced twist. “We should head back before someone notices,” he said quietly.
Still, they didn’t move. Not right away. They lingered in that delicate stillness between who they were and who they were becoming.
“No choice,” Calnos added softly. “I’ll see you in the Duke’s court.”
Then he slipped away, swallowed by shadow and dusk.
The others stood and moved together, drawn toward the courtyard lights. The feast was winding down—musicians packing away curved instruments, servants clearing platters with a dancer’s efficiency. Parents clutched their children with pride and quiet awe. Every face seemed touched by something—relief, hope, the ache of farewell.
The great doors creaked open.
Six guards stepped into formation—three on each side—forming a silent corridor of steel and ceremony. The crowd hushed, as if even the stone held its breath.
Deezo emerged, cloak trailing behind like a shadow with purpose. He surveyed them, eyes sharp and voice low.
“Follow me,” he said. “Disrespect this moment, and you risk your place among the grown. This is your threshold. Act like it.”
A ripple of nerves passed through the group. Backs straightened. Eyes widened.
Then, one by one, the youths stepped forward, following Deezo through the towering doors.
Their footsteps echoed along the stone corridor, slow and rhythmic, like a drumbeat marking the passage from childhood to something new. The grand marble staircase loomed ahead, cool underfoot, each step quieting their boyish chatter into solemn silence.
At the top, the doors opened—and the Duke’s Court unfolded before them.
Gasps rippled through the group.
The hall was transformed. Crimson and gold banners draped between soaring pillars like the standards of ancient battles. Candlelight shimmered from great chandeliers, washing the garlands in molten gold.
Tables stretched across the floor, groaning under platters of roasted meats, herbed stews, caramelized roots, and pyramids of sugared fruit. Silver pitchers gleamed beside crystal jugs of cider and frothy ale. The air was thick with the scent of rosemary, cinnamon, and slow-burned hearths.
Spud and Timmy lingered near the entrance with the others, caught between hesitation and wonder. No one sat. All eyes turned to the center of the room, where Deezo stood alone—tall and still, like a conductor before the first note.
A steward waited near a guarded door. Eight musicians stood by, fingers resting on their strings and flutes.
The room held its breath.
Deezo clapped once—sharp and commanding.
“Are we all ready?” His voice rang clear, cutting the hush. With a nod to the steward, he gave the signal.
The great doors at the back opened with a slow, sonorous creak.
A dozen servants entered first, fluid and precise, carrying jugs that glimmered in the candlelight. Then came the Masters of Convota—dignified, dangerous, storied. Each moved with quiet confidence, claiming their seats at the table opposite the gathered youths.
Next, the royals appeared.
Princess Vaneppe glided forward, her gown shimmering like dusk woven with starlight. At her side, Calnos walked with newfound poise, the earlier edge of mischief now tempered by grace. Behind them, Prince Turon and Prince Arlep entered in layered brocade, regal yet approachable—like statues carved in softer stone.
And then, the Duke.
A silence fell, deep and respectful.
He entered without pomp, only presence. Calm authority in every step. He reached his place at the head of the table, lifted his goblet, and tapped it once with a silver fork. The chime rang out—clean and bright, like the first light of morning.
“Please,” he said warmly, “fill your glasses and join me in a toast. Choose freely—but choose quickly.”
Servants stepped forward. Timmy chose a dark ale, earthy and familiar. Spud reached for a honeyed wine that shimmered amber under the chandelier light—curious, uncertain, drawn to something new.
Cups raised, the Duke held his high.
“To adulthood,” he declared. “From this day forward, you are answerable for your mistakes… and your triumphs.”
The Masters lifted their goblets in solemn silence. Across the room, the youths echoed back, voices blending with nerves and resolve.
“To adulthood.”
The Duke drank, then smiled with mischief. “Enjoy the night—but if you overindulge, I ask only that you make a discreet exit.”
Laughter broke out—easy, genuine. It washed away the stiffness of ceremony like wind scattering petals.
And with that, the celebration began.
Lutes and drums sprang to life, their melodies spinning like bright ribbons through the vaulted air. The room bloomed with conversation—laughter rising in waves, clinking glasses, the rustle of silk and leather.
Spud and Timmy wove through the current, their plates piled high with honey-glazed meats, garlicked potatoes, and steaming spiced apples. Friendly voices called to them from every side—friends from training, elders they’d barely spoken to before, and strangers with knowing smiles. Stories flowed like wine, and wine flowed like a second heartbeat beneath it all.
As twilight thickened beyond the high windows, the music brightened. The center of the hall cleared.
A girl in emerald silk stepped forward, poised and radiant. Then another. Soon, the floor came alive with motion—a kaleidoscope of dancers swirling through rhythm and light. Boots beat time, hands clapped, silks spun like leaves caught in a playful windstorm.
Spud stood at the edge, wine in hand, candlelight flickering across his face. For a long moment, he didn’t move—only watched, caught in the sudden, dizzying truth of it all.
He was no longer the boy who had woken that morning.236Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcxnzK89Kbc
He was Spud Raspin, apprentice to the unseen arts. A magician’s path lay before him now—wide and wild and unknown.236Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoxjQVU77BE
and then Add to home screen.